


boot-legged whiskies and so-called gins

by sanetoshiapologist



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Cold, Depression, Everything Hurts, F/M, Friendship/Love, Smoking, Talking To Dead People, Tragedy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:43:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanetoshiapologist/pseuds/sanetoshiapologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I guess you could say I'm chasin' after the past, but...what about you, Faye?</p>
            </blockquote>





	boot-legged whiskies and so-called gins

Faye takes a long drag on her cigarette. The wisp of smoke curls into ghosting tendrils in the frozen night air- she can feel it poison her lungs, wind and choke her heart, take long, drawn-out stabs with its withered fangs. It sucks, she muses, having to rely on such a disgusting way to die.

_(Is it really that disgusting? a husky voice asks her.)_

"Shut up, lunkhead." She coughs, throws it on the ground, and stamps on it. The embers flicker out, and she is left alone in the bitter darkness, fumbling for another death stick and the grimy lighter she had found tucked between the folds of the his bed sheets. Her heart contracts painfully, but she laughs it away, laughing a cold, maniacal laugh that echoes broadly off the looming cliffs. That voice, the voice that isn't hers- she isn't that pathetic, that vulnerable, that-

_(Ah, but you are, he would say, with that crooked grin, reclining across the leather couch and bottle of the cheapest tequila in his calloused grasp.)_

"Like you're one to talk," she responds scathingly, eyes on a small purple wildflower sprouting in between the craggy rocks.

Faye wonders why she doesn't feel cold- snow drifts gently down from the milky sky, coats the Bebop in white. The temperature must surely be below freezing now, yet she is still wearing that skimpy overcoat and short-shorts that garner hungry gazes unwanted eyes- wait, why the hell is she wearing it again? In a half-drunken daze, she whisks it off with a flourish, lets it flutter to the ground. The woman smiles humorlessly- much better.

The wind blows across her bare, porcelain skin, raising goosebumps she can't even feel. _I'm so numb, Spike_. But it's so quiet, so lonely...has she ever felt so lonely before? Did younger Faye ever feel so lonely? No Ed, no Ein, no Spike...just her and a plain of glorified stars and a misassembled heart and a world she cannot possibly call home.

A girl stuttering in front of the camera, face blurred by static and time. A woman downing shot after shot and singing off-key and betting her food money for the month on the ace of diamonds and stumbling and calling after and hurting for...what?

_(I guess you could say I'm chasin' after the past, but...what about you, Faye?)_

"I don't know," she whispers, swaying from side to side as she let out a little hiccup. "You chased for her. Look how that turned out." She chokes out a bitter laugh that fills her mouth with the acrid taste of hurt. "What am I chasing after now, Spike? Can you tell me? Can anyone tell me?"

An unnaturally-gentle breeze tousles her hair. She nods slowly, understands, breathes out an agonizing sigh. "Yeah, I know. I'm chasing a ghost that never loved me. Did I ever really know you at all, Spike?"

_(She was so beautiful, Faye. Deadly- like poison. Took one look into those eyes, and before I knew it...I fell in love with poison- that ever happen to you, Faye? Would you do it again?)_

She tosses the unlit cigarette to the ground, lips upturning in a sarcastic smile. "Did you really think I had a choice, Spike?"


End file.
